What Remains, However Improbable
by Riddle Master 101
Summary: In which there is much drama, excitement, and magic. In which Mycroft is annoyed, Sherlock deducts the Statute of Security to pieces, and John is the only one polite to the new tenant. In other words: in which Harry Potter moves to Baker Street.
1. In Which Baker Street

**Title**: In Which Baker Street Acquires a New Tenant

**Category**: Harry Potter/Sherlock crossover

**Genera**: General

**Rating**: K

**Words**: 758

**Characters**: John Watson, Mrs. Hudson, and Harry Potter.

**Source**: Inspired by esama's various HP/SH crossovers…especially "Potter in Baker Street" and "Whispers in Corners".

**A/N**: Takes place after The Great Game and the Deathly Hallows (ignoring the epilogue).

0o0

There was a new tenant at 221 Baker Street. John Watson was mildly surprised—a rather difficult feat in itself these days, as living with Sherlock for the last year and a half had more or less cured him of that emotion. And it wasn't so much that someone was finally moving into 221C; six months ago Mrs. Hudson had finally recruited John's help in stripping the place and remodeling the kitchenette, bathroom, and putting up new wallpaper. (She'd paid him for it, too, and didn't mind that his work schedule revolved around whenever Sherlock _wasn't_ running around London on a case, something that the clinic simply didn't understand.)

No, what really surprised John was the individual who was moving into the basement flat: from the looks of things, he was barely legal; he also had a baby in his arms, which could only be a few months old.

John observed all of this in the two second span from when he stepped through the door to when Mrs. Hudson noticed him. Sherlock, for lack of a better word, appeared to be rubbing off on him (though he had no doubt that the detective would have noticed a great deal more).

"John!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, waving him over, "Welcome back! How was your trip to Cardiff? And where's Sherlock?" this last bit was added in the slightly wary tone of one who knew the detective well and wanted to keep an eye on him at all times to make sure something didn't explode.

"It was fine, Mrs. Hudson," John replied warmly, "Sherlock revealed a number of scandals and even an extortion ring, as well as infuriating the police department so badly that they almost threw us out of the place—all on the side of what we went there for, of course," he sighed with a rueful grin. "He's at the Yard right now; Lestrade texted him on the train back, needs him to look at some case or other." John then turned expectant eyes on the teenager who was watching the exchange with interest.

"Oh yes," Mrs. Hudson suddenly remembered their audience, "Mr. Potter, Dr. John Watson," she gestured accordingly, "He's taking the 221C flat, John."

'Mr. Potter' shifted the sleeping baby in his arms and offered his hand. "It's Harry, please," he said with a small smile.

"John," the doctor responded likewise. The kid had a firm, solid handshake, his thin hands surprisingly strong. That, combined with the way he carried himself—open and inviting, yet with a shadow of wariness and very, very alert of his surroundings—brought back memories of his days in the army. In fact, if it hadn't been for his age and the baby in his arms…

"Military service?" John asked lightly, very much aware in the back of his own mind how reminiscent this was of Sherlock.

"Hmm?" Harry glanced back from where he had been turning to talk to Mrs. Hudson again, "Oh no. Just a very strict boarding school," he answered in equal tones and with a faint smile.

_Lie,_ John's gut instinct informed him. But the kid wasn't really lying, more just avoiding the truth. And the doctor got the feeling that the new tenant was lying more for his own safety (and perhaps that of the baby?) than as any means of a threat. Interesting.

Either way, the kid was pinging all kinds of radar. John had seen a few people like this back in Afghanistan: quiet, soft-spoken, generally mild personality, tended to be on the smaller slide of the height and weight scale…and absolutely, utterly lethal when the situation arouse.

He shook his head with a sigh. The kid couldn't be a day older than 18, and his reasoning for _that_ was that he couldn't be on his own in a flat any younger (he certainly didn't _look_ old enough). John was probably over-reading the situation. God knew, his paranoia scale had yet to recover from the case in Cardiff this past week. Yes, that was probably it. The kid looked harmless enough.

John said a polite good-bye and headed up the stairs to his flat, listening to Mrs. Hudson coo over the baby in Harry's arms and the idea of having a child so young around again. He wasn't as thrilled, but then again, there was no possible way that a baby could come close to the noise Sherlock made at night, so John probably wouldn't even notice.

He was very, very interested to see his flat mate's opinion of the new tenant, though.

0o0

**A/N**: Sherlock Time Line:

In this universe, the events after the screen went black in The Great Game episode go as follows: Sherlock shot the bomb. Just as he did so, John launched himself at Sherlock and thus toppled them into the pool at about the same time the bomb went off. The bomb was a fake—explains Moriarty's facial expression when he sees Sherlock aim at the bomb in the episode—or at least, it was supposed to be a fake. However, Mycroft had planted a mole in Moriarty's network ever since A Study in Pink, and this mole switched the fake explosives for real ones. Of course, Mycroft didn't expect Sherlock to get into a situation where he would end up detonating the thing. So…Sherlock and John survive the incident with serious, but not permanent, injuries. Moriarty dies (yes, I know, not as dramatic as in the books, but I don't want to deal with him and it makes sense with this for background). It is now a year and some months later. (actually, that's a rather good plot. This might become a short story a little farther down the line).

Harry Potter Time Line:

Everything happens according to what the books say except that Harry _doesn't_ get rid of the Hallows, and thus remains the Master of Death. About a month after the final battle, Harry is absolutely sick of all the attention and fame he's getting. He's constantly hounded by the press and mobbed in public.

In order to escape from this, he casts a very powerful spell that he and Hermione worked out. It works something like this: people don't recognize him anymore as "the boy who lived". The Harry Potter that defeated Voldemort is, in essence, wiped off the face of the map—when asked, no one really knows what happened to him after that event (essentially, anything they "know" is based off of rumors, such as "I heard he died", "No, he's going on a tour of the world", "Oh really? I could have sworn he got settled down and married", etc). No one connects this Harry Potter that is wandering around with the HP that killed Voldemort. People recognize him ("oh yeah, he was in my charms class"), but the BWL material is all gone. The exception to all of this is his friends (the Weasleys, Hermione, the Hogwarts professors, Neville, Luna, etc) and the upper positions in the ministry, of which the "knowledge" is tied to the position as opposed to the individual (so, if they quit, they forget. This is also so that when certain individuals—read, Mycroft—go digging about for his history, people they would ask in the Ministry will know exactly who HP is).

Finally, his own personal relationships work out like this: he doesn't end up with Ginny (she's moved on and so has he, really). He keeps in touch with the Weasleys, Hermione, Neville, and Luna, but that's about it. He also ends up—at age 18—with full custody of Teddy Lupin. Harry's rather sick and tired of the wizarding world and their expectations, so he decides to once more join the muggle world. Searches for flats in London, and comes across 221C Baker Street.


	2. In Which Sherlock

**Title**: In Which Sherlock Attempts to Eliminate the Impossible

**Category**: Harry Potter/Sherlock crossover

**Genera**: General

**Rating**: T (mentions of child abuse)

**Words**: 2329

**Characters**: John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

**Source**: Inspired by esama's various HP/SH crossovers…especially "Potter in Baker Street" and "Whispers in Corners".

**A/N**: See time line information at the end of "New Tenant" for more details.

0o0

John was less than surprised to find his flat mate in deep contemplation over their new neighbor a few days later. What was shocking was that the detective had yet to pin down the kid's life story.

"It's very bizarre," Sherlock said idly, letting his thoughts flow to his willing audience, "Classic signs of PTSD, mental trauma, and child abuse, and yet he acts in a way that says he came to terms with it all years ago."

"Child abuse?" John asked, wondering how the detective came to that conclusion and a bit worried about the kid.

"Yes, isn't it obvious?" Sherlock remarked offhandedly, gesturing vaguely. The sleeve of his shirt rode up, revealing what appeared to be nicotine patches on his arm. John's eyebrows shot up—clearly, there was more to the new tenant than met the eye, if it had his flat mate considering him a three-patch-problem. "Keeps his back to the wall, notes all the exits, prefers to stand in smaller, more enclosed spots," Sherlock continued, "Of course, it's all overlaid with whatever war experience he's had—"

"What?" John cut him off. Yes, he'd thought the kid might have enrolled in the military, but actual combat?

"War experience, John, do keep up," the detective frowned in his direction, "Front line too, from the looks of things. Oh, you cannot possibly be this blind!" he exclaimed in exasperation at the doctor's blank look. He rolled into a sitting position on the couch in one graceful move, "His defensive stance, John! The way he positions his feet—perfectly balanced to absorb any sort of blow with minimum difficulty. The way he twists his torso when talking to people so that child of his is always shielded by his body. The way he judges every individual he meets for potential threat capacity. A rather unconventional war by our standards, too," he trailed off on a tangent, "Seeing how he considers me to be the greater threat, when anyone with his training would easily see that you have much more combat experience and therefore are a much greater physical threat than me."

John blinked at the unexpected compliment, though he doubted that Sherlock had intended it as anything more than a mere statement of fact.

"But none of that's important," his flat mate continued, oblivious to John's once again rising eyebrows. "The problem is that he's wrong!"

There was a rather long pause, in which the detective flopped back into his reclined position on the couch in pure annoyance and John attempted to figure out where on Earth Sherlock was going with this train of thought.

"Wrong?" the doctor finally asked, hesitantly.

"Yes!" Sherlock replied, practically pouting as if the universe had decided to go out of line purely to spite him. When it became obvious that John was once more lost in the maze of logic, Sherlock managed to look down on him while lying flat on his back and continued the thought. "Wrong, John. He left a highly abusive household a year ago and yet he's far too well adjusted for that short of a time frame. He—"

"How do you know it was a year ago?" John interrupted.

"Scar on his neck. A little over a year old, and the given the position, depth, length, has to be a belt buckle. Stunted growth shows that he's still recovering from malnutrition and controlled starvation—though of course, some of that is from the war he fought in—but he's not emaciated, so he's had some amount of time to put on a little weight. Plus, he's eighteen, year ago would have been summer, and then he left for boarding school—obviously, he wasn't going to go back to that household afterward, especially with a child in his charge now."

"His son?"

"No don't be ridiculous, John, godson if anything. And clearly he must be somewhat responsible and reliable as someone was willing to name a teenager a godfather. Especially one with so little official schooling."

"What?" John was getting steadily more lost.

"I obtained the background information he gave Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock explained, and by 'obtained', John correctly assumed the detective meant 'stole'. "There wasn't much to go by, just his name, really—Harry James Potter. No previous employers, no parental permission notes, and most interestingly, no school records. Mrs. Hudson in quite a capable landlady, the only reason she'd take him on with so little information is if her conversations with him convinced her of his character."

"So he isn't to be trusted?" John asked, suddenly more wary and remembering the odd feelings he'd gotten from the kid on that first day. Sherlock shot him a Look.

"To pay the bills on time, keep his flat in reasonable shape, and not blow the whole building up? I don't think she could have chosen a better person." Sherlock replied in a slightly ironic tone, indicating that he was more aware than he pretended to be over the fact that _he_ definitely did not fit those requirements. "With not breaking into the other flats and stealing items of worth? He's not the type—well, for stealing, that is. I'm sure if we give him strong enough reason to believe that he and his child are not safe in the premises, he'll be snooping around sooner or later. With our lives and our secrets? Well, when do you ever trust the neighbors with those? That one depends entirely on what impression we make on him."

"So that lack of school record?" John attempted to get the stream of deductions back on track.

"Ah yes. Well, I didn't have anything more than a name, but a name is all you need, sometimes. I hacked Mycroft's data base—took me a couple of hours, he's updated his security again—and ran the name against all the people in Britain. Came up with a 'Harry James Potter', born July 31, 1980 to ones James Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans. Both of his parents were marked 'deceased' a little over a year later. Grew up in Surrey, raised by his mother's sister and her husband, along with their child. Found school records, along with some reports of child neglect and potential abuse (all ignored, interestingly enough), which end when he reaches eleven. No signs of a secondary school, no A-levels, driver's license, nothing.

"I ran his parents' information against the data base. Absolutely no records of his father aside from that birth certificate. As for his mother…nearly the same story: typical childhood, and then vanished at age eleven. No marital record, voting record, A-levels, etc. The excuse offered for Lily Evans' withdrawal from the public school system was that she was accepted into an exclusive boarding school in Scotland. There was no reason given at all for that of her son's.

"Now, this boarding school—which both mother and son attended, and we can assume the father did so as well—there aren't any records of it. Oh, there are, obviously, boarding schools in Scotland, but none of them ever accepted a Lily Evans or a Harry Potter. And this is _Mycroft's_ data base, and while I hate to compliment my brother, the reason I was using it to begin with was that it has the most complete records of everything in the United Kingdom. So not only does it have the normal schools, but also the schools designated for high profile individuals' children. And yet…nothing. So what does this tell us?"

He paused in his monologue to look at John. The doctor thought for a minute.

"That Mycroft doesn't know everything?" he hazard, fairly sure that this wasn't the correct answer or the one his flat mate was looking for, but unable to resist.

Sherlock let out an exasperated, why-am-I-stuck-in-a-world-full-of-idiots sigh, but he couldn't quite hide the small grin that John's comment evoked.

"Put together the facts, John! Children—and not just these two: after I found this discrepancy, I ran the entire data base and found many more that fit the pattern—vanish from society. No one protests, which implies that their parents, at the very least, know where they're going. Almost all the records claim an excuse of going to an 'exclusive boarding school', which research has proved doesn't exist. However, we can gather that they're getting an education, merely by our new neighbor's actions and statements: not posh, it's no 'finishing school', but definitely educated. Not high profile individuals, either, just perfectly normal families. Some of these children reappear seven years later, with tailored school records that say they took an equivalent of A-levels, but most remain invisible to the world."

John frowned, remembering the case they'd had the previous week. "Do you think—?" he began.

"No," Sherlock interrupted. "I already hacked their files, and then," he grimaced, "Called when that failed to turn up the necessary information. They don't know anything about this."

That was interesting. John mentally reviewed Sherlock's deductions, trying to figure out where to go from there.

"Where's this 'war experience' coming from?" he asked finally, "There aren't any wars I know of that would allow British children on the front lines."

"Well, it wasn't an official war—I'd gather that hardly anyone knows about it, outside of this vanished society. It took place in the United Kingdom (our neighbor's never been out of the country), and probably has a great deal to do with the enormous media cover-ups that Mycroft's been doing for the last two years or so."

"Media cover-ups?" John asked, wondering when his life turned into a giant conspiracy theory.

"Yes John, do be a bit more observant. Or did you not notice that there's been an inordinately large number of gas leaks these last few years."

Actually, John _had_ noticed, thank you very much. He had just attributed it to the steadily falling standards and general corruption in businesses, as opposed to a mass scheme of Mycroft's. He supposed he should have known better.

"At any rate, there was an underground war going on in Britain—fought by this missing society of ours—"

"How do you know that it's a missing or hidden society? That once they get out of this school, they don't just go live on their own or change their identities and re-enter the regular world? Or even move to a different country?"

"If it was anything but hiding in mass seclusion, Mycroft would have picked up on it." Sherlock sounded thoroughly annoyed at having to compliment his brother again. "And it's definitely a society. Our neighbor's maintained polite manners and the ability to interact with complete strangers comfortably. Those traits tend to vanish when one lives in complete seclusion or interacts with the same small group of individuals all the time. Yet why hide themselves from the world? And how are they doing it? The data shows all the supposedly hidden cults from Britain, yet they don't have anywhere near enough people to account for the number that have vanished."

"So, there was a war, here in Britain, which none of us knew about—except for maybe Mycroft—and in which they allowed kids to fight on the front lines? That's your conclusion?" John was a bit hostile to the idea, though he didn't doubt Sherlock's deduction.

"It would seem like. Which of course brings us back to the fact that our new tenant is wrong."

"Yes, care to explain that without wandering off on a tangent this time?"

"He lived in an abusive household, fought in a war that ended not even three months ago…and he's perfectly adjusted. Completely fine. Oh sure, he's got the physical reactions and general paranoia that have yet to vanish, and probably won't for years, but other than that? No obvious mental trauma. Think about it John! You were back from Afghanistan (not counting the time in the hospital) for a few weeks before I met you. And I could tell right away that you were a soldier still adjusting to society from the way you carried yourself, spoke, and your reactions to my comments. You still flinch at gunshots if you're not the one firing them. Your eyes trace the sky when you hear a military plane fly over. And you've been back for two years now! And yet our new tenant, who only got out of his war a few months ago, lacks all of this."

"How can you tell he was even in a war, then?" John asked, trying to get the subject off of his time in the army.

"Oh, I probably wouldn't be able to if it wasn't for that baby of his. He's very protective, notice? And it brings out all of the training and instincts that could only have been obtained from combat. Other than that though…John, when have you _ever_ heard of people going through traumatic experiences without flashbacks afterward?"

"So that's the problem, then?"

"Among other things. _No one_ survives what he's been through without some lasting mental damage. And yet…nothing."

"So where does that leave us, exactly? We've got what? A secret society that hides itself from the rest of Britain—including your brother, unless he does know about it and for some reason hasn't put in his is data; children vanishing at age eleven or thereabouts, and the possibility that others are born into this society; a war that the rest of us missed because Mycroft's been covering it up; and a perfectly fine neighbor who is only eighteen, fought in a war, survived an abusive childhood, and has a baby of his own to take care of? Sherlock, we've seen a lot of crazy things over the last year or so, and I know your deductions are correct, but…"

John trailed off shaking his head with a sigh. His flat mate didn't answer, eyes glazed and fixed on the ceiling.

"I'm missing something," Sherlock mused, hands steepled under his chin, "Something important. Really important."

0o0

**A/N:** So, obviously, what Sherlock's missing is the magic. As for the whole "Harry is well adjusted" thing: it's from an idea that I've been tossing around, that the Deathly Hallows fundamentally changed Harry's nature when he came back to life. Basically, they couldn't risk having someone be the Master of Death and mentally unbalanced at the same time. So they…fixed him. Completely cleared up any trauma he had experienced and wiped it out. They also mellowed out his personality and made him a very accepting individual. Possibly not the best thing in the world, but it's probably the path that would cause the world the least harm.

Brownie points if anyone picks up what Sherlock and John keep hinting at. (hint: you need both stories is this series so far).


	3. In Which Mycroft

**Title**: In Which Mycroft is Surprised

**Category**: Harry Potter/Sherlock crossover

**Genera**: General

**Rating**: T

**Words**: 4788

**Warnings**: hints of very one-sided flirting between two guys. NOTE: none of the characters in this story (that's all of Sherlock BBC and Harry Potter worlds) are seriously involved. This isn't a slash fic, people.

**Characters**: Mycroft Holmes, Harry Potter, and Anthea

**Source**: Inspired by esama's various HP/SH crossovers…especially "Potter in Baker Street" and "Whispers in Corners".

0o0

Surprisingly, it took Mycroft two weeks to 'politely abduct' Mr. Potter. The truly surprising aspect? He had actually been trying for the last ten days. His more subtle efforts (which had easily caught both Doctor Watson and DI Lestrade) all appeared to be in vain: either Mr. Potter was the world's most oblivious teenager, or he was deliberately ignoring all attempts to get his attention. The latter thought was…quite worrying, actually, and Mycroft came rather close to taking drastic actions. Fortunately, he was able to get ahold of Mr. Potter without having to resort to more…illegal methods.

From the moment he had watched Mr. Potter move into 221C Baker Street, Mycroft knew that the teenager would be the _perfect _informant on Sherlock: just curious enough to ask the necessary questions and observe the detective, and likely in need of money that would help smooth over any moral issues he might have with the situation. All observations indicated that Mr. Potter was polite, rather quiet, and completely unflappable (a good trait to possess when one is living in the same building as Sherlock Holmes). He appeared to have made a mistake with a girl somewhere along the line, learned a lesson, and now had matured enough to accept the newfound responsibility. For all intents and purposes, Mr. Potter seemed to be a completely normal teenager with nothing interesting (read: dangerous) about him.

At least, that was Mycroft's impression until one of his agents sent him CCTV footage of the boy laying out five thugs in a span of ten seconds.

The footage had not actually _caught_ the action, as anything truly interesting had taken place in a side alley that (unfortunately) did not possess a camera. What it did show was Mr. Potter entering the alley, followed shortly by five men of ill repute, nothing of interest for exactly seven seconds, one of the men flying back out of the alley and landing unconscious just inside the camera's field of vision, and then Mr. Potter returning the way he had come with an expression that could only be classified as mild annoyance. An agent on the scene confirmed that the other four men were in a similar state of unconsciousness as the first.

It was at this point that Mycroft had his assistant do a thorough background check on the teenager, mentally cursing himself for not doing so before (he _always_ did background checks first…why on Earth had he decided to not do so this time?). The search turned up a surprising lack of information: a few primary school records and a birth certificate, nothing else.

There were two—and only two—things that left this kind of hole in Mycroft's records. He tackled the easier one first, contacting London and then calling Cardiff when that failed to turn up the necessary results. Having confirmed that no, there was nothing _they_ knew of that had been living in Surry for the given duration, he spent another hour steeling himself for an unavoidable meeting that he was already dreading. Having to maintain an appearance of inferiority, when he could easily topple their entire ministry with a few choice words, was nothing short of infuriating.

_[It should be noted at this point that Mycroft was very stressed out over various other events going on in the world (like stopping WWIII…again). The realization that the individual who had moved in with his little brother was not as safe as he had initially believed did not help the situation in the slightest. So maybe it was not terribly surprising that he failed to notice said little brother had also been digging through his records—long before Mycroft had thought to do so. It would actually take until the week after Mycroft had succeeded in kidnapping Mr. Potter for him to notice the subtle changes to his own birth certificate (Sherlock's usual method of pointing out the gaping holes in his brother's security system). Sherlock, Mycroft decided resentfully, needed a new hobby. And possibly a one-way ticket to Antarctica. John Watson's influence was either waning or encouraging in the wrong direction.]_

The meeting went more or less as Mycroft had expected. They were arrogant, snotty, and reeked of a (misplaced) sense of superiority. In response to his very pointed questions, they were vague and long-winded, making an appearance (and not a good one) of answering his query without actually saying anything. Strolling out of the building far too many hours later, Mycroft decided that their only redeeming qualities were their lack of efficiency as a ministry (especially in their interpersonal communication) and their blind willingness to underestimate him. The combination had allowed him to depart with far more information on one Mr. Harry James Potter than the Ministry believed they were releasing.

The information (all memorized, as it was physically impossible to commit it to paper or hard drive…_interesting_) included average academic and astonishing 'extracurricular' records for a decidedly unsafe boarding school, a war record—both front lines and behind enemy lines, the legal documents for his godson, and bank account statistics. Not a whole lot of data (compared to what he could access on most citizens), but it contained enough to make Mycroft wary. It became of the utmost importance that he speak with Mr. Potter in order to assess the threat level the teenager was to Sherlock.

Unfortunately, Mr. Potter appeared to be as oblivious as the rest of the wizard world to subtle attempts to catch his attention.

0o0

Strolling down the street with Teddy in his arms, Harry absently wondered where Hermione had ever gotten the impression that he was too paranoid for his own good. If anything, this week proved that he was not paranoid enough. Given the number of inconvenient, suspicious, and sometimes frankly odd occurrences that had been following him around London lately, he had come to the opinion that the world was out to get him. Or that Fate was going through a particularly nasty phase of humor again. Both were equally likely.

Alright, so maybe it wasn't quite that abstract. It was fairly obvious that Someone was trying to catch his attention, probably to deliver a series of not-so-subtle threats…or maybe to offer him a nice cup of tea? The wizarding world had taught him to anticipate all possibilities, but given the pattern of his life thus far, the latter option was _highly _unlikely. To continue, this individual was almost certainly high up in some government organization (too expensive of an operation and with too much control to be otherwise), whether legal or illegal remained to be seen. And he/she was definitely a muggle: no wizard would _ever_ have come up with that phone-ringing trick…though it was a rather good one, the Twins probably would have gotten Ideas from it.

At any rate, Someone was attempting to catch his attention, and Harry was trying just as hard to ignore the odd ringing telephones, black cars that tailed him, and the way the CCTV cameras followed him down the street. It was only sheer paranoia that had saved him from getting into a cab he had hailed…which turned out to not be a cab after all (and following that incident, he refused all methods of muggle transportation aside from his own two feet).

It was really getting very annoying, especially now that he had Teddy to look after. With no one else to worry about, he would have been all for waiting for the game to step up a bit; to see what other tricks this Someone would pull out of his/her sleeve when he/she became frustrated with his lack of response. He wasn't too worried about the damage that could be done to him, and these opening moves would tell him a great deal about his…opponent? Had they progressed that far yet? However, that argument was moot point, as he was unwilling to risk any harm coming to Teddy, and the more unpredictable his 'opponent' became, the harder that would be to ensure.

Harry sighed and glanced casually over his shoulder to verify that the black car was still tailing him. Yep, right on target. He shifted Teddy to one arm, the Elder Wand making its presence known by digging into his hip. An individual with this many resources would probably know about the wizarding world, and maybe even his role in it. However, while there were many ways to neutralize a wizard's power, there were none that actually worked on Harry (courtesy of being the Master of Death…there had to be _some _advantages after all). And…with that argument, he essentially ruled out his mental objections, which put the ball in his court, so to speak.

With a wry grin, he stepped to the curb and raised his free hand in the air to hail a 'cab'.

0o0

Mycroft waited, slightly impatiently, for his assistant to bring Mr. Potter to meet with him. He was a little suspicious as well: the teenager had done an excellent job avoiding all attempts to contact him so far, and yet he suddenly slipped and called a cab? Odd, very odd, yet to believe that it was anything but a coincidence would imply that Mr. Potter was perfectly aware of what was going on around him. And that level of awareness was…worrying. Very worrying. Especially considering that the teenager was now living in the same building as his little brother.

He straightened as the black car pulled into the empty warehouse, stopping a few yards from him (a position that allowed for private conversation and yet enabled his assistant to defend him if necessary). As he watched, a rather thin, short, bespectacled teenager unfolded himself from the car, shifting the baby in his arms to minimize disturbance. The boy glanced around with an air of mild curiosity, seemingly unaware (or ignoring) the potential dangers of the situation. Upon spotting Mycroft, the teenager gave a slight grin and walked forward until he was standing a few feet away.

"Hi," he said in a cheerful tone.

Mycroft stared in something close akin to disbelief. On any lesser individual, this would have amounted to visible, jaw-dropping astonishment. Mycroft was far to trained to react in such a plebeian way (to react at all, in fact); but, seriously?

_This_ was the savior of the British Wizarding World?

The boy must have seen something in his (non-existent) expression, as his seemingly innocent grin turned slightly vicious. Ah, so it was going to be like this then. Well, best get down to it.

"Mr. Potter," he began, and the teenager did not seemed surprised in the slightest that Mycroft knew his name, "It has come to my attention that you recently moved into…ahh, 221C Baker Street," he pretended to read from his notebook, "And considering your…rather intriguing past, certain individuals are interested in your reasoning for the decision to move to such a mundane spot. Considering the quality and quantity of your assets, you could easily have chosen any spot in London. Why Baker Street?"

It was blunt and to the point, far more so than any 'information session' that Mycroft had held before; however, his first impression indicated that an ambiguously worded question would lead them to talking in circles for hours, and Mycroft actually had other things to do with his day. Still, he was irritated with the individual in front of him, irritated with the situation in general, and most of all, irritated that he had to throw his cards down on the table without anything to go on.

Mr. Potter appeared to be oblivious to the slowly building storm stewing in Mycroft's mind. Instead, he peered at the notebook.

"How much information on me do you have written down in there?" he asked, intrigued and slightly amused, as if he was well aware of the difficulties of _that _particular endeavor.

In all reality, the notebook contained nothing on Mr. Potter other than the teenager's name. After numerous attempts to write down the information that he had learned in the Ministry, Mycroft had decided that there must be some 'security spell' on Harry Potter which prevented the precise thing. He had wasted an idle moment contemplating what _he_ could do with that particular spell, before giving up the matter as a lost cause.

"Surprisingly little, in fact," Mycroft replied, and the teenager gave him a knowing grin. "Now, would you care to inform me of why you did not choose one of your _multiple_ properties to reside in?"

"Oh, you know, far too large for the likes of Teddy and me," Mr. Potter answered without actually saying anything. "Unfortunately, sir, it appears that you have me at the disadvantage here, as you know my name and I do not know yours…" he trailed off waiting for Mycroft to fill in the blank.

"Oh, I am no one of consequence," Mycroft replied, refusing to be redirected. "If your properties in London were too large—and I agree, they are rather impressive in size—then why did you not choose one of your smaller ones…say that apartment in Cardiff? Or do you have some reason to stay in London?"

Mr. Potter eyed him a little more warily, as he revealed the depth of his knowledge. The teenager's response, however, appeared to be as oblique as his previous ones.

"You know," Mr. Potter began, with a hint of something (amusement? mischievousness? knowing?) in his voice, "It's odd that you mentioned that particular property. Because this brings us around to the fact that this isn't the first time I've been kidnapped by a government official in the past month."

"Oh?" Training alone prevented Mycroft from blinking at that statement; because, well, he _had not_ actually known that. His mind began racing through government employees and dismissing them just as quickly, because none of them had the necessary information to be suspicious enough to kidnap the teenager. And why bring this up after he mentioned the property in Cardiff? What did Cardiff have to do with anything?

"Yes," Mr. Potter continued, blithely oblivious to the turbulence of Mycroft's though pattern. "I was intending to settle down in Cardiff, originally; however, the incident convinced me to try my luck elsewhere. Yet here we are again. Although," he paused to glance around the warehouse, towards the car, and then back to Mycroft, "I have to admit, this is a much more impressive and intimidating set up."

Good Lord, the teenager actually sounded approving. This was ridiculous.

"And," Mr. Potter added, in the tone of a punch line to some obscure joke, "At least you aren't flirting with me." He gave a slight smirk, as if waiting for Mycroft to catch up.

Flirting? Mycroft felt a deep sinking sensation in his gut; which from past experience indicated that his subconscious had already figured out what was going on, but his conscious mind had not _quite_ _yet_ caught up…

"The captain didn't seem to be able to help himself, even when—no _especially_ when—interrogating me." Mr. Potter apparently felt that Mycroft needed a hint. Mycroft would have been offended and indignant, except the teenager's words finally allowed him to make the connection.

Cardiff…government…flirting…_captain_…! He barely stifled a groan and fought off the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose to ward off the oncoming headache. Firmly resolving to have _words_ with one Captain Jack Harkness about the importance of sharing _all_ vital information whenever he contacted them about a problem, he shot a mild glare at the teenager.

Mr. Potter grinned back, looking altogether too pleased with himself—and he had the right to be. Mycroft had reacted to that last statement, he _knew_ he had, and that would give the teenager all the information he needed to place Mycroft's relative importance in the government. To know about the wizarding world, one had to be very high up in the government; knowledge of Torchwood was even more exclusive. And to know about _both_…oh yes, Mr. Potter had won this round.

Although, this same set of reasoning worked against the teenager as well. Very, very few wizards knew about the extraterrestrial dealings side of the world, just as very, very few individuals dealing with the extraterrestrials knew of the wizarding world. And from what Mycroft knew of Mr. Potter, the teenager had no reason _whatsoever_ to know what he did. The British Ministry of Magic certainly had no knowledge of the situation, and where else could the wizard have gotten it from. Intriguing…

Mycroft drew himself together before the teenager could get too smug and firmly reminded himself of the reason for this meeting: assessing Mr. Potter's threat level. And while the previous conversation indicated that Mr. Potter had a worrying amount of knowledge (and was willing to use it when necessary), he had yet to see any sign of actual violence in the teenager's personality. Conclusion: Mr. Potter living in Baker Street was not necessarily a bad thing. Now how to use this to his advantage?

"I do hope that this…conversation will not drive you out of your new home, then?" Mycroft asked, not really worried but needing to restart the conversation.

"No, I believe we'll stay there for a while," Mr. Potter answered pleasantly, "It is a rather nice spot, and the neighbors are intriguing. Doctor Watson is certainly nice enough." Well, that brought them around to the subject of interest rather quickly.

"I see. And what is your opinion of Sherlock Holmes?" Mycroft asked, bracing himself for either the indignant defense (John Watson's approach) or the more usual barrage of complaints.

"Actually," the wizard replied in a slightly—dare he say it—sad tone, "I haven't had the opportunity to meet Mr. Holmes yet. Do you think we will get along?" He seemed genuinely concerned about the prospect.

Mycroft took a moment to consider all that he had learned about the teenager in the last few minutes (especially his roundabout, but very intriguing and effective method of interrogation), and decided to answer honestly.

"Mr. Potter, I believe that you and Sherlock Holmes will get along like a house of fire: either very well, or violently with a great deal of property damage."

Mr. Potter blinked at that non-sequitur, then seemed to think about it for a moment and began to grin. Mycroft, who had not been joking in the slightest, made a mental note to upgrade Sherlock's security status once again. In fact, he might as well upgrade the surveillance of the entire apartment complex.

He was just about to continue with the conversation when the realization of what he had just said struck him and he fought back another groan. Roundabout interrogation method indeed—that 'reassurance' had indicated a greater depth in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes than he had wanted to admit. And he had no doubt that Mr. Potter had picked up on it. For the second time in as many minutes, he drew himself back together, giving the teenager a slight, insincere smile.

"Mr. Potter," he began, "Our time together is running short, and thus I will bring us around to the point of this meeting. Your records indicate you have considerable talents, and not only of the…_unusual _variety. There are certain individuals who would be willing to employ one with your abilities for—well, let us say significant compensation."

"Oh indeed?" Mr. Potter replied, his tone taking on a darker note, "And what do these 'Certain Individuals' want me to do with my 'considerable talents'? And what does this have to do with Mr. Holmes?"

"Nothing much," Mycroft reassured, mentally frowning. Mr. Potter was far too suspicious. "Just…information. And nothing you do not feel comfortable with, of course."

"I see. And of course, I will be compensated for what I do report?"

"Naturally."

"Hmm…" Mr. Potter regarded him for a long moment, idly running his hand over his godson's back, as the baby appeared to be waking. "Well I'm afraid that I will have to decline. I am much too busy taking care of Teddy; and anyway, as I'm sure my records indicate, I swore off all of that when I took my godson in. Too dangerous."

"Indeed," Mycroft murmured. He highly doubted it. Those records that Mr. Potter so contumeliously quoted seemed to indicate the precise opposite: the wizard was incapable of keeping his nose out of trouble even if he tried. Still, Mycroft supposed that had been a rather long shot, anyway.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted as the baby in Mr. Potter's arms chose that moment to wake up. The child did not exactly start screaming, but Mycroft could tell that it was only a matter of time. Having no desire to remain in an echoing warehouse with a shrieking baby, he concluded that the meeting was over.

"Well, Mr. Potter, it appears that our time is up. Thank you for the…enlightening conversation and remember the offer if you ever change your mind."

"You're welcome and I will," the teenager replied impishly. He started to head back to the waiting car, but turned around at the last moment. "Oh, I have one more question for you."

"Do you?" Mycroft asked warily, wondering whether to give the wizard another possible opportunity to throw him off track.

"Yes. If I were to ask him, what is Sherlock Holmes's opinion of you?"

Mycroft relaxed slightly. Any other phrasing of that question would have been problematic, but given that the teenager was aware that he and Sherlock knew one another, he saw no problem in answering the inquiry.

"I believe Sherlock Holmes refers to me as his enemy. Archenemy, in fact."

Mr. Potter nodded slowly, as if that had not been the answer he was expecting, and then he ducked into the car, leaving the conversation at that.

0o0

Harry shifted the fussing baby in his arms as he slid into the back seat. The dark haired woman who had 'accompanied' him to the garage hadn't so much as shifted since he'd left—if one discounted her fanatically typing thumbs. He considered waiting for her to acknowledge him, but Teddy was working his way into a truly annoyed state, and he figured the mild amusement he would get from her reaction was not worth the hours it would take to calm his godson back down. With that thought in mind, he leaned forward and asked the driver to take him home, not bothering to specify the address.

Slumping back in his seat and beginning the process of settling Teddy, Harry reviewed his thoughts on the man claiming to be Sherlock Holmes's 'archenemy'. There was no way that was true—he'd had archenemies, and they didn't act like that. No, not archenemy, but…this whole conversation had reminded him of talking to Slytherins. Protective Slytherins who didn't want to show that they were protective. Ok, that was good to know, but what did it mean…wait. He mentally reviewed what Mrs. Hudson had told him of Sherlock Holmes, as well as the one photograph she had of the detective. Yes, the resemblance in features and personality was there; slight, but definitely present. Siblings, no doubt about it. Probably older sibling, given the man's exasperated tone when speaking of Sherlock Holmes. And though the man had genuinely wanted him to spy on his…brother (_seriously,_ spy on his brother? Was it physically impossible for him to meet normal people?), Harry had also noticed the subtle probing to determine if he was a threat. So…not close, but very protective. The younger one probably resented that.

The threats had amused him more than anything, although they were very subtle and well done, and would probably have intimidated the hell out of anyone else. Having a wand in one's back pocket (and being the Master of Death) tended to put things into perspective. The amount of information 'Mr. Holmes' had on the subject of his bank account, on the other hand, was worrying—mainly because the goblins would _never_ have parted with it for any sum of money, which implied that the Ministry knew all of it. He'd have to rectify that at the nearest opportunity.

As the car pulled up to his door and he thanked the technology obsessed woman (and hoped that his magic didn't decide to act up, she'd probably kill him), Harry idly mused on possible purposes that the brother of Sherlock Holmes played in the government. Probably legal, he decided, though barely. Much more subtle than Malfoy's attempts to rule the ministry, at any rate. High up enough to have access to the wizarding world and their full records (and _that _narrowed down the list a bit). Not only that, but high enough to know about both the wizarding world _and _aliens, given his reaction to Harry's hints about Torchwood. This was unusual in itself; according to Hermione, people generally knew about one or the other.* Capable of utilizing the cities full resources—including the CCTV cameras and what appeared to be a whole fleet of black cars. And seemed to have an absurdly large amount of knowledge regarding everyone and everything…

Harry froze halfway down the stairs to his flat. Oblivious to Teddy's mild squirming and Mrs. Hudson's worried call, he stared straight ahead, mind flying.

Dear Merlin, he'd just met the secret leader of Britain.

0o0

Mycroft watched the black car pull away. That had been…well, not exactly disappointing. Yes, the conversation had not gone according to plan, but Mr. Potter genuinely did not appear to be a threat, which was a relief. The wizard had also revealed that he had a worrying amount of knowledge that he had no good reason to possess. Mycroft did not need another puzzle at the moment, but it was definitely something to think about.

Still, the day had not been a complete failure. Despite Mr. Potter's annoying inability to be rattled, his absolute refusal to be bribed or spy, and his mild amusement with the whole situation, Mycroft held the firm belief that the teenager would make a good moral impression on Sherlock.

0o0

_[It wouldn't be until a week later, when he received a frantic message about an individual sounding suspiciously like his little brother poking around in an area of London that Sherlock had no reason to know even existed, that he began to realize the negative impacts of Mr. Potter's influence.]_

0o0

*Harry's excuse for knowing about the aliens? Well, apparently the Master of Death was powerful. Really powerful. On a Universal standard powerful. The kind of powerful that could mess with timelines powerful (not that Harry would try or anything. _Way_ too much work to sort things back out afterwards). And this had apparently warranted a special visit from one of the only other equally powerful individuals in the Universe; namely, a certain alien with a police box that broke the laws of modern physics (but not the laws of magic, which had started an interesting debate that Harry really couldn't keep up with—where was Hermione when he needed her?).

And so Harry had learned all about aliens, and Earth's reactions to them, and the Doctor's opinion on Earth's reactions (long, _long_ rants about Torchwood), and what _not_ to do when you run into aliens, and lots more than he ever wanted to know about the Universe; until the Doctor finally decided that he had said enough, and given enough warnings about messing with the time stream, and left.

And that should have been the end of that…except that Harry had run into Jack Harkness (who had warranted a whole hour's worth of explanation from the Doctor) not a week later. Which had brought him to the worrying realization that the Rift in Cardiff that the Doctor had mentioned was actually in _Cardiff, Wales _Cardiff, as in the city he was currently living in. Which had prompted a move to London (as Cardiff was now too dangerous a place for Teddy to grow up with Torchwood running around; not to mention the aliens), and yet another kidnapping interrogation. Well, at least UNIT wasn't looking for him here.

And of course he told Hermione about it. Imagine his surprise when he found out that she already knew.

(And yes, Harry _had_ turned down the Doctor's offer to travel with him. Because not one of the Doctor's stories had involved a nice, peaceful day on a planet with nothing going wrong, and that was a far too dangerous environment to raise Teddy in. Harry was grown up now; he was mature enough to not need to get into trouble at every conceivable opportunity. No matter how bored he was. No matter how bored _Teddy _was. He would resist the temptation, damn it! _Resist temptation…!_)

0o0

**A/N**: So there you have it: Harry meets Mycroft. Apologies for this chapter being a few (oh dear) _months_ late—real life decided to intrude for a time period. And then I discovered the wonders of Final Fantasy VII fan fiction (thank you esama), which threw me off track for a while longer.

Notes on story:

1. Yes, Harry's a little ooc. However, by this point I think he's a little desensitized to the situation, and has more fun playing around with his kidnappers than anything else.

2. Mycroft appears to be a bit off center during the conversation. This is deliberate: he wasn't expecting Harry to be the individual that he is. Remember, his information about Harry comes from the Ministry, and despite Harry killing Voldemort and all that, the Ministry records probably didn't cast Harry in too favorable of a light. And they most certainly didn't include that he was intelligent.

3.a) So now you finally found out what everyone's been hinting at—aliens! For those of you who missed it, I'll break down all the references: in the first chapter, John and Sherlock return from Cardiff, where they were consulting for a case for Torchwood. In the second chapter, Sherlock hacks Torchwood's database and then calls them, under the impression that Harry could be an alien, or alien influenced. In this chapter, Mycroft calls UNIT (London headquarters) and then Torchwood (Cardiff headquarters) to check for alien influence.

3.b) For those who don't know the Doctor Who universe that well, don't worry. It won't play a major part in this story, although I might run a few tangents later in separate fics (such as that case Sherlock had in Cardiff and just how Hermione knows about aliens).

4. Moriarty, in this series, is dead. I'm not including anything from the second season of Sherlock, as I have not seen it yet. Therefore, I'm assuming that Moriarty died in the pool explosion, while John and Sherlock managed to survive. For more details, see the author's note in the first chapter.

And that's it for now. There are about two more chapters for this fic planned: Sherlock discovering the wizarding world, and Lestrade's reaction to all of this nonsense. However, I only have the vaguest ideas for how they will work out, so the next two chapters will probably take a while. A long while. If there is anything anyone wants to see included, though, let me know!


End file.
